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I  DINE  WITH  MY  MOTHER 


I  DINE  WITH  MY 
MOTHER 


From  the  French  of 

PIERRE-HENRI-ADRIEN  DECOURCELLE 

•.J:'-: 

By 

EVELYN  CLARK  MORGAN 

New  York  and  Washington 

The  Neale  Publishing  Company 

1904 


Copyri£to.  S9<?4"  I-   ',      » 
By  EVELYN  CLARK  MO'RCiAN 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAE 

SOPHIE  ARNOULD, of  the  Paris  Opera 

COUNT  d'HENNIN,  her  lover 

BARON  d'ORNAY, one  of  her  admirers 

PIERRE  DIDIER,  an  artist 

MARION,   Sophie's  maid 

Chef,  Coachman,  Lackeys. 


M1.6576G 


LOCALE. 
Time — January  j,  1765. 

Boudoir  in  the  house  of  Sophie  Amould,  rue 
Richelieu,  Paris. 

Windows  on  either  side.  Door  at  the  right. 
Fire-place  and  mantel  at  the  back. 

Appointments  luxurious.  Walls  covered  with 
gilt  and  white  hoiserie. 

Garland  of  Cupids  encircles  the  arched  ceiling 
on  which  is  painted  the  fable  of  Psyche. 

Gilt  consoles  in  floral  design  serve  for  base  of 
mirrors  that  fill  the  space  between  the  windows. 

Satin  curtains  bordered  with  roses  hang  at  the 
windows  and  door. 

On  chairs,  sofa,  piano,  inlaid  tables  and  cabi- 
nets are  seen  a  profusion  of  bouquets.  Jewel  cases 
and  objects  d'art  are  scattered  here  and  there 
among  the  Dresden  figures  and  Sevres  vases  that 
ornament  the  room. 


SCENE  I. 

Marion  {alone,  arranging  various  gifts). 
How  many  flowers  and  gifts.  One  mes- 
senger scarcely  leaves  the  door  before 
another  appears.  A  rain-shower  of  dia- 
monds, a  cloud-burst  of  bonbons,  a  del- 
uge of  flowers,  and  still  it  rains. 

First  Footman  {entering  zvith  bouquet). 
Commander  Choisy's  greeting  to 
Mademoiselle  Sophie  Arnould. 

Marion.  Good!  {Footman  retires.  She 
lays  it  zvith  the  others.)    More  flowers ! 

Second  Footman  {carrying  small  box). 
From  Baron  d'Ornay. 

Marion.  Thanks.  {Footman  disap- 
pears. She  opens  the  box.)  Oh!  how 
they  shine!  What  beautiful  gems!  I 
wish  some  one  would  pelt  me  with 
stones  like  these. 

Third  Footman  {enters,  places  box  on 


10  I    DINE    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

table).     From  Viscount  St.  Croix.    (Re- 
tires.) 

Marion.  From  the  Viscount!  I 
thought  he  was  ruined.  (Opens  the  box; 
makes  a  grimace.)  Now,  I  know  he  is. 
Ah!    that  lucky  Mademoiselle. 


SCENE  II. 

Marion;  Sophie;  Baron, 

Sophie  (advancing  from  left,  followed 
by  Baron).  Baron,  you  are  very,  very 
generous;  these  bracelets  are  superb. 

Baron.  Oh,  not  at  all;  their  worth 
lies  in  their  uniqueness.  I  helped  the 
jeweler  design  them,  and  then  destroy- 
ed the  pattern. 

Sophie.  Indeed!  How  the  count- 
esses and  baronesses  will  envy  me,  and 
how  chagrined  they  will  be.  They  be- 
siege my  tailor  whenever  they  see  a 
new  costume  on  me. 

Baron.  Then  the  tailor  must  be  in  a 
continual  state  of  siege,  but  I  honor  the 
taste  of  the  ladies. 

Sophie.  If  only  they  followed  my 
brilliant  ideas,  but  they  follow  all  blind- 
ly.     Once    I    had    a    chocolate-colored 


12  I    DINE    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

outre  gown  that  my  maid  would  have 
scorned.  Just  for  a  freak  I  wore  this 
odd  thing;  and,  my  dear  Baron,  at  the 
next  horse-show  I  saw  at  least  one  hun- 
dred chocolate-colored  costumes.  I 
laugh  whenever  I  think  of  all  those 
chocolate-colored  gowns.  Ha!  Ha! 
Ha!  (Seats  herself  on  sofa  and  laughs 
heartily.) 

Marion  {entering).  Dinner  is  served, 
Mademoiselle. 

Sophie.  Baron,  I  have  two  covers 
laid.     You  will  dine  with  me? 

Baron.  I  should  be  so  pleased,  but 
I  dine  with  my  mother  to-day. 

Sophie.     And  despise  my  truffles? 

Baron.  It  grieves  me  very  much  to 
refuse. 

Sophie  {gives  him  her  hand).  Au 
revoir  then.  Shall  you  be  at  the  Opera 
to-morrow  ? 

Baron.     Do  you  sing? 

Sophie.     So  they  say. 


Baron. 
question  ? 

Sophie. 

Baron, 
companies 
deeply.) 

Sophie. 

Baron, 
again  and 


NEW    year's    EARCE  13 

Then  why   this   unnecessary- 
Flatterer!     Well,  adieu. 
Good-by,    Sophie.     (She    ac- 
him    to    the    door;     he    sighs 

What  is  the  matter? 

Oh,  nothing,  nothing.  (Sighs 

retires.) 


SCENE  III. 

Sophie,  Marion. 

Sophie  {seats  herself  on  sofa,  places  a 
pillow  back  of  her  and  rests  her  head 
against  it.)     Marion. 

Marion.     Yes,  Mademoiselle. 

Sophie.  Has  Monsieur  Didier 
brought  back  the  miniature  which  stood 
on  the  mantel? 

Marion.  Ah!  That  portrait  of  your 
mother  which  Monsieur  Didier  took  to 
retouch.  No,  Mademoiselle,  he  has  not 
been  here.  You  would  have  heard 
him  if  he  had,  for  he  enters  the  salon 
like  a  bomb.  Artists  never  think  of 
appearances. 

Sophie.  Hush,  Marion.  Monsieur 
Didier  is  a  friend  of  my  childhood.  He 
covered  the  walls  and  fences  with  cari- 
catures, while  I  hummed  on    my  way  to 


A     NEW    year's    farce  15 

school,  and  now  he  is  a  celebrated 
painter.  I  look  upon  him  as  a  brother, 
and  do  not  forget  that  I  wish  you  to 
speak  of  him  with  respect. 

Marion.  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  I  am  po- 
lite to  every  one,  and  to  this  artist  too. 

Sophie.  That  is  right,  Marion;  be 
courteous  to  all.  But,  Marion,  you  have 
a  very  sweet  voice;  did  you  ever  think 
of  studying  for  the  stage? 

Marion.  I  have  thought  of  it,  but  did 
not  wish  to  grieve  my  parents. 

Sophie  (aside).  Prejudice.  (Aloud.) 
True,  your  father  is  a  cook,  and  your 
mother  a  fish-woman. 

Marion.     Yes,  Mademoiselle. 

Sophie.  Ah,  well;  excuse  me,  my 
child.  (Aside.)  It  is  unheard  of. 
(Aloud.)  Marion,  do  you  think  that  any 
one  could  be  happier  than  I? 

Marion.  Certainly  not.  Made- 
moiselle. 

Sophie.     Think  what  it  is  to  be  petted 


l6  I    DIND    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

and  admired;  to  possess  talent,  youth; 
to  be  artiste  as  well  as  a  woman ;  to  go 
from  triumph  to  triumph  with  glory 
and  applause.  I  see  dukes  and  counts 
at  my  feet,  the  best  blood  of  the  land, 
to  whom  my  smile  is  sunshine,  my 
words  pearls.  And  when  I  tire  of  flat- 
tery, when  I  long  for  true,  sincere  ap- 
plause, then  I  go  before  the  public,  who 
have  bought  the  right  at  the  box-office 
to  tell  me  the  truth. 

These  people  are  not  flattering 
friends.  When  they  applaud  me — what 
joy,  what  triumph.  They  are  inspired 
by  me,  laugh  at  my  joy,  weep  at  my  sor- 
row. I  am  much  praised  and  feted, 
Marion. 

Marion.     Continually. 

Sophie.  What  is  the  matter  with  me  ? 
Nothing,  nothing.  (Walks  to  the  right.) 
I  possess  diamonds  fit  for  a  queen;  my 
coffers  are  filled  with  gold;  my  salon 
with   the   nobility.     The   grand   dames 


A    NEW    year's    farce  17 

also  besiege  me,  they  who  haven't  a 
single  talent.  You  tell  me,  Marion, 
that  there  is  no  happier  woman  in  the 
world  than  Sophie  Arnould.  {Goes  to 
the  window.)  How  crowded  the  streets 
are. 

Marion  {behind  her).    They  always  are 
on  New  Year's  Day. 

Sophie.  Yes ;  New  Years'  is  a  charm- 
ing invention.  How  happy  every  one  is, 
how  gay — great  and  small.  Marion,  tell 
my  servants  that  I  double  their  wages. 
{Goes  towards  the  sofa  as  she  speaks.) 

Marion.     Oh !    and  mine  too  ? 

Sophie.     Yours  too. 

Marion.  Oh,  how  delightful!  {Noise, 
laughter  outside.) 

Sophie  {jumps  up  from  sofa).  What 
is  that? 

Count  d'Hennin  appears  coming  from  the 
right. 

Marion.  Count  d'Hennin.  {Places  a 
chair  for  him.) 

2 


SCENE  IV. 

Count  (approaches,  laughing;  throws 
himself  in  an  arm-chair).     Ha!   Ha! 

Sophie.  What  is  the  matter,  Count? 
Explain  to  me. 

Count.  Excuse  me,  my  dear,  but — 
(Laughs  again.) 

Sophie.  Will  you  not  tell  me  the 
cause  of  this  merriment,  and  the  noise 
under  my  windows? 

Count.  It  is  my  New  Year's  gift  to 
you.  Mademoiselle. 

Sophie.     What? 

Count.  Your  horses  have  served  you 
long,  so  I  replaced  them  by  four  Eng- 
lish ones — spirited,  full-blooded  beasts. 

Sophie.  But  your  laughter?  This 
commotion  ? 

Count.  Listen.  As  your  stalls  were 
not  sufficient,  I  set  your  old  horses  at 


A     NEW     YEAR  S    FARCE  IQ 

liberty.     They  looked  so  surprised,  and 
ran  in  all  directions. 

Sophie  (laughing).  You  turned  my 
horses  loose? 

Count.  It  was  so  droll.  They  seemed 
to  say:  *'What!  Are  we  turned  out  of 
house  ?  Shown  the  door  without  saddle 
or  carriage?  Haven't  we  served  our 
lady  faithfully?"  By  Heavens!  these 
beasts  touched  me.  I  put  them  back  in 
the  stable.  These  new  English  ones 
must  stand  a  little  closer,  and  now  they 
are  all  the  best  friends  in  the  world. 
And,  my  dearest  Sophie,  accept  my  best 
wishes,  and  my  horses.  (Kisses  her 
hand.) 

Sophie.     It  is  truly  a  princely  gift. 
Two  lackeys  bring  in  a  laid  table,  place  it 

before  the  chimney  and  retire. 

Count.  What,  dinner  here  already. 
(Looks  at  the  clock.)  My  true  love,  my 
beauty.     I  am  pleased  to  find  you  so 


20 


I    DINE    WITH    MY    MOTHER 


well  and  happy.    I  will  repeat  my  wishes, 
kiss  your  hand,  and  withdraw. 

Sophie  {keeping  him  at  arm^s  length). 
You  are  not  going,  Count? 

Count.     What  ? 

Sophie.     No,  Count. 

Count.     And  why  not,  pray? 

Sophie.     Because  I  am  going  to  keep 
you  to  dinner. 

Count.     Oh,  impossible,  my  dear. 
Impossible? 
Yes,  I  dine  to-day  with  my 


Sophie. 

Count. 
mother. 

Sophie. 
excuse, 
letter. 

Count. 
all. 

Sophie. 

Count. 

Sophie. 

Count. 


But  you  can  write  a  word  of 
My    servant    shall    carry    the 

How  quickly  you  arrange  it 

It  is  so  simple. 
By  no  means,  I  must — 

Why? 
It  is  New  Year's,  a  fete  day. 


a  family  reunion.    I  must  confess,  I  sel- 


A     NEW    year's    farce  21 

dom  visit  my  mother.  If  I  stayed  away 
to-day  she  would  think  I  were  dead. 

Sophie.     But  if  you  wrote? 

Count.  You  do  not  know  my  moth- 
er, she  is  not  one  to  accept  excuses.  Pic- 
ture a  stately,  pompous  lady,  seated  in 
an  antique  black  oak  chair,  emblazoned 
with  the  family  arms.  She  has  never 
changed  the  manners,  customs,  or  dress 
of  the  olden  times.  In  her  eyes  my 
brother  and  I  are  the  same  lads  that 
used  to  come  home  from  their  tutor  on 
birthdays  and  New  Years'.  They  were 
the  only  days  she  ever  kissed  us — a 
dignified  kiss  on  the  forehead,  such  as 
she  will  give  us  to-day.  Then  will  fol- 
low a  ceremonious  dinner,  the  silence 
only  broken  by  my  mother,  who  will 
toast  *'the  olden  times."  It  isn't  gay, 
but  it  is  a  sacred  duty,  and  I  have  never 
neglected  it.  A  kiss  from  my  mother 
is  something  rare  and  precious,  that  I 
cannot,  will  not  renounce. 


22  I    DINE    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

Sophie.     And  if  you  were  ill? 

Count.  Then  my  mother  would  come 
to  me,  but  I  am  not.    (Rises.) 

Sophie  (standing  and  touching  his  arm 
retainingly).  Don't  go;  send  a  note. 
Stay  with  me,  please  do.  The  Count- 
ess will  forgive,  and  we  will  be  so 
happy. 

Count.     But,  my  dear— 

Sophie.  Going  is  just  a  whim.  Stay, 
Maurice ;   will  you  not  ?    You  will  stay  ? 

Count.  It  would  delight  me;  but,  by 
Heaven,  I  cannot! 

Sophie.  And  I  was  silly  enough  to 
think  you  loved  me? 

Count.  Not  love  you,  because  I  can- 
not dine  with  you?  I  will  to-morrow, 
the  day  after,  every  day. 

Sophie.     I  haven't  invited  you. 

Count.  I,  not  love  you !  I,  who  have 
fought  ten  duels  for  you!  This  morn- 
ing I  quarreled  with  Monsieur  Kontan- 
ges  because  he  said  your  C  in  Norma 


A    NEW    YEAR  S    FARCE  23 

was  a  Cis.  If  I  had  not  loved  you,  would 
I  have  challenged  him,  when  the  note 
was  somewhat  doubtful? 

Sophie  (walking  to  the  right).  Go  over 
to  my  enemies !  Join  them,  hiss  me 
when  I  sing! 

Count.  Know  that  I  fight  for  every 
doubtful  note.  It  was  a  C,  and  I  should 
like  to  kill  Monsieur  Fontanges.  Am  I 
not  worthy  of  love?  Heavens!  It  is 
already  three  o'clock. 

Sophie.     Are  you  going? 

Count.     Certainly. 

Sophie.  But  I  wish  you  to  stay.  I 
insist.    Do  you  hear? 

Count  (laughingly).  "The  King  says 
I  will."  But  let  us  understand  each 
other.  I  shall  go  now,  but  return  to 
supper.  It  is  understood,  is  it  not? 
(Tries  to  take  her  hand.  Sophie  pushes 
him  away.  He  takes  his  hat  and  goes  as 
far  as  the  door;  stops.)  Will  you  not 
say  good-by? 


,24  I    DINK    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

Sophie  {standing  behind  arm-chair), 
Maurice,  if  you  cross  that  threshold  you 
never  enter  here  again! 

Count  {approaching  her).  Are  you  in 
earnest?     Can't  you  understand? 

Sophie.  No  excuses.  Do  you  dine 
with  me,  or  not? 

Count  {decidedly).    No,  then,  I  cannot. 

Sophie  {walks  to  right).  If  you  love 
me  stay;  if  not,  go,  but  do  not  come 
again.  I  am  tired  of  coaxing.  I  know- 
that  some  things  mean  more  than  gifts. 
They  only  mean  that  a  man  is  a  million- 
aire. 

Count.     But — 

Sophie.  You  boast  of  a  quarrel. 
What  is  that  to  me?  Did  you  fight 
with  that  idea,  or  to  show  your  sang 
froid  ? 

Count.     Sophie ! 

Sophie.     It  is  a  hollow  mockery. 

Count  {standing  still).  Sophie,  there 
are    duties    which,    though    they    seem 


A    NEW     year's    farce  25 

trifling,  are  still  held  sacred.  If  you 
cannot  understand,  so  much  the  worse. 
I  love  you  truly,  and  should  like  to  do 
as  you  wish;  but  when  my  mother's 
trembHng  hand  beckons  me,  I  obey, 
even  at  the  cost  of  happiness.  Good- 
by. 

Sophie.  Good-by!  {Count  at  the 
door).  One  last  word;  I  must  tell  you 
{seats  herself)  that  whatever  happens,  I 
shall  not  eat  alone. 

Count.     Is  that  your  determination? 

Sophie.     I  am  decided.* 

Count.     With  whom  will  you  dine? 

Sophie.     With  the  first  comer. 

Count.  Then  I  am  satisfied.  {Starts 
again.) 

Sophie.  Probably  with  Baron  Mar- 
cilly. 

Count  {surprised).     With   Marcilly! 

Sophie.     Yes,  with  Baron  Marcilly. 

Count  {with  an  effort).     As  you  like. 


SCENE  V. 

Sophie  {alone,  rising).  It  is  abomin- 
able. They  are  all  alike;  they  fall  at 
our  feet,  and  swear  eternal  love,  and  pay 
no  attention  to  our  wishes.  {Standing 
erect  and  walking  about.)  It  annoys  me 
that  he  went  in  spite  of  all  I  said.  What 
is  he,  anyhow?  A  cold,  selfish  man;  an 
insignificant  mind — in  short,  an  every- 
day sort  of  person,  whose  love  is  only 
vanity.  His  vanity  shall  suffer.  Mar- 
cilly  lives  for  me  alone.  He  has  no  fam- 
ily. I  will  ask  him  to  dine.  {Rings  and 
begins  to  write.)  Marcilly  is  handsome. 
He  has  but  his  cloak  and  sword,  is 
rich  in  sentiment  alone;  and  the 
Count  will  be  so  angry.  {Servant  ap- 
pears.) Quick,  this  note  to  its  ad- 
dress. {Servant  retires.)  Now  I  feel 
happier.  {Sits  down.)  I  was  stifling 
with  indignation.  Since  I  have  written 
this  note,  I  breathe  freer.  Persons  are 
so  willing  to  fight  for  me — perhaps  the 
duel  only  exists  in  his  mind. 


A    NEW    year's    farce  2/ 

I  should  like  to  arrange  the  affair. 
Fontanges  should  give  him  a  stroke  that 
would  tell.  (Noise  in  the  street.)  What 
is  that  noise  again?  (Goes  to  the  win- 
dozv,)  Nothing,  only  the  passing  crowd 
finds  something  gay  in  the  New  Year. 
(Advances  to  the  front.)  How  delighted 
Marcilly  will  be ;  he  will  not  excuse  him- 
self. (Servant  enters  hastily.)  A  letter! 
Give  it  to  me  quick.  (Servant  retires. 
She  reads.)  "Your  letter  fills  me  with 
joy,  but  unfortunately  I  dine  with  — " 
(Does  not  read  farther,  but  tears  the  letter 
and  crushes  it  in  her  hand.)  This  Mar- 
cilly is  a  dunce.  Alas!  then  I  must 
dine  sadly  alone,  on  New  Year's  Day, 
and  I  have  lost  all  appetite.  Monsieur 
Didier  does  not  come  either.  (Goes  to 
the  ^replace.)  I  counted  him  as  my  best 
friend.  So,  I  must  strike  him,  too,  from 
the  list.  Ah,  friendship,  like  love,  is 
only  a  breath.  I  am  getting  positively 
hungry,  yet  alone  I  will  not  eat. 


SCENE  VI. 

Sophie  and  Marion. 

Sophie  (seats  herself  at  table).  Ah! 
are  you  here,  Marion? 

Marion.    Yes,  Mademoiselle.     I — 

Sophie.     How  fine  you  look. 

Marion.  .  Yes,  Mademoiselle,  I  put 
on  my  new  dress,  as  I — 

Sophie.  Marion,  you  are  a  good  girl. 
I  am  pleased  with  you,  and  I  am  going 
to  bestow  a  great  favor  on  you.  Sit 
down  here,  Marion.  You  shall  eat  with 
me. 

Marion.     But,  Mademoi — 

Sophie.     Well !    What  is  it  ? 

Marion.     Have  you  forgotten? 

Sophie.     What? 

Marion.  That  it  is  my  holiday,  when 
Mademoiselle  allows  me  to  remain  out 
till  9  o'clock. 


A    NEW    year's    farce  29 

Sophie.  Oh !  You  have  a  home,  too. 
Well,  you  can  take  another  day  for 
home. 

Marion.    Oh,  Mademoi — 

Sophie.  What!  When  I  do  you  the 
honor  to  invite  you  to  my  table? 

Marion.  The  honor  is  indeed  great, 
but  will  you  not  postpone  it  till  to-mor- 
row? 

Sophie  (angrily).    W^hat  do  you  say? 

Marion.  I  do  not  know  why  Made- 
moiselle should  be  angry.  I  certainly 
do  not  mean  to  offend. 

Sophie.  Well,  I  accept  your  apology. 
Now,  sit  down  at  the  table. 

Marion.  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  I  am  so 
sorry,  but  at  home  they  will  wait  for 
me.  On  New  Year's  Day  we  always 
dine  together,  and  I  should  expect  to 
be  unlucky  the  whole  year  if  I  did  not 
go. 

Sophie.  What  if  I  will  not  permit 
you  to  go? 


30  I  '  DINK    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

Marion.  Then,  sorry  as  I  should 
be— 

Sophie,     What? 

Marion.     Then — 

Sophie.     Speak ! 

Marion.  Then  I  should  ask  to  be 
discharged. 

Sophie  (rising).  Very  well,  then. 
Go! 

Marion.     Mademoiselle ! 

Sophie.  Straight  out  of  my  house. 
A  maid  I  took  for  pity,  and  now — 
What!    you  do  not  go? 

Marion  (pleadingly).  Believe  me, 
Mademoi — 

Sophie.  Must  I  call  my  servants? 
(Rings.)  Heavens !  how  my  head  aches ; 
it  is  these  abominable  flowers.  Can  no 
other  place  be  found  for  them?  They 
fill  the  salon,  cover  the  floor. 

Marion.     Oh  yes,  certainly. 

Sophie  (rings  all  the  bells).     Have  I  no 


A    NEW    year's    farce  31 

servants  to  do  my  bidding?    (Walks  to 

the  right,) 

Several  servants   appear   with   disturbed 

countenances. 

Servants.     Did  Madame  ring? 

Sophie.  Yes,  be  quick.  Throw  these 
flowers  out  of  the  window.  (They  hastily 
4)bey.)  Leave  the  windows  open,  that 
the  air  may  cool  me. 

Marion.  Then,  Mademoiselle,  must 
I— 

Sophie.  You  must  leave  at  once. 
{Strides  to  the  left.)  Oh,  how  I  am 
served.  My  lackeys  sleep  all  day.  (To 
coachman.)  You  use  my  horses  as  your 
own. 

Coachman.     I — Madame ! 

Sophie.  Yes,  you.  I  say  to  every 
one  of  you,  go!  (To  the  chef.)  And 
you,  what  have  you  prepared  for  my 
dinner? 

Chef.  Truffles,  as  you  ordered, 
Madame. 


32  I    DINE    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

Sophie.  Truffles,  and  nothing  but 
truffles ;  for  six  weeks  I  have  seen  noth- 
ing but  truffles. 

Chef.  And  all  first  marketings  of  the 
season. 

Sophie.  The  first  of  the  season.  Why 
not  diamonds  and  pearls?  They  would 
not  sooner  bring  me  to  poverty.  Go  J 
I  say  to  each  of  you,  go !  I  do  not  wish 
to  see  your  faces  again.  {Servants  go 
out.  Sophie  throws  herself  on  the  sofa.} 
O  Heavens!    how  unhappy  I  am. 


SCENE  VII. 

Sophie,  Didier,  Marion. 

Didier  {coming  from  the  right,  an- 
nounces himself).  Monsieur  Didier, 
artist.  Good-day,  Sophie;  here  is  the 
miniature  again.  The  hand  of  friend- 
ship has  restored  it.  {Places  it  on  the 
mantel.)  What  a  good,  true  face  it  is; 
how  the  peasant  dress  suits  it.  Your 
mother  must  have  been  a  whole-heart- 
ed, brave  woman.  {Takes  an  orange 
from  the  table.)  But  we  are  forgetting 
the  season's  greetings.  Mademoiselle, 
I  wish  you  luck  and  happiness  in  the 
New  Year,  as  the  latest  phrase  goes. 
And  here  is  my  carte  de  visite.  {Takes 
her  hand  and  kisses  it.)  Why  so  silent? 
Ah,  good  Heavens!    you  weep. 

Sophie.     I?     No. 

3 


34  I    DINE    WITH     MY    MOTHER 

Didier.  But  tell  me,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter? 

Sophie.     Nothing ;    nothing. 

Didier.  "Nothing;  nothing."  But 
there  is  something.  Tell  me;  speak. 
(Seats  himself  on  a  sofa  beside  her.) 

Sophie.     But,  I  assure  you — 

Didier.  Ah,  Sophie,  you  would  de- 
ceive me.  Have  you  forgotten  an  old 
house  in  the  suburbs,  and  two  gloomy 
attic  rooms  ?  In  one,  a  young  girl  sang 
her  scales  to  the  accompaniment  of 
a  discordant  piano;  in  the  other  a 
young  fellow  daubed  his  canvas — 
his  chief  furniture  an  easel.  The 
neighbors  were  friends,  good  warm 
friends,  nothing  more.  There  was  not 
fire  in  the  stove  every  day.  There  was 
not  always  breakfast.  There  were  no 
presents,  but  plenty  of  advice.  The 
singer  says  to  the  artist,  "I  think  those 
clouds  hang  too  low";  and  the  painter 
says  to  the  singer,  "I  think  that  C  was 
too    high."      Then    they    quarrel,    but 


A  NEW  year's  farce  35 

finally  the  painter  makes  his  clouds 
higher,  and  the  singer  takes  her  C  low- 
er, and  peace  is  restored.  These  chil- 
dren dreamt  of  glory,  of  the  world's  ap- 
plause. The  young  girl  was  you,  So- 
phie; the  painter,  I.  The  old  house 
still  stands,  and  our  friendship  endures. 

Sophie.     My  friend! 

Didier.  Share  your  sorrow  with  your 
friend  and  it  will  grow  less.  Will  you 
not? 

Sophie.  Do  you  really  wish  to  hear? 
Then  I  will.  To-day  I  have  received 
gifts  fit  for  a  queen. 

Didier.  Well! 

Sophie.  Hosts  of  people  have  sent 
good  wishes. 

Didier.  So  far  I  see  no  cause  for  un- 
happiness. 

Sophie.  But  no  one  will  dine  with 
me,  Pierre;  no  one,  not  even  the  man 
who  professes  to  love  me;  not  even  my 
maid.    They  all  dine  with  their  families. 


36  I    DINE    WITH     MY    MOTHER 

I  have  no  family.  I  thought  I  had 
slaves  and  admirers.  I  did  not  know- 
how  alone  in  life  I  stood.  I  am  very 
silly.     (Brushes  away  a  tear,) 

Didier.  No.  There  are  little  needle 
pricks  which  are  very  painful.  You  did 
not  expect  it,  and  therefore  the  blow 
has  hurt  you.  My  dear  Sophie,  I  know 
you  have  more  heart  and  feeUng  than 
are  usual  with  women  of  the  world. 

Sophie.  My  good  Pierre,  I  have  not 
the  courage  to  ask  you.  (Points  to  the 
table.) 

Didier.  I  would  with  all  my  heart, 
but— 

Sophie.     I  can  guess. 

Didier.  I  dine  with — 

Sophie  (laughing  bitterly,  and  rising). 
I  know,  I  know,  and  will  not  keep  you 
longer.     Au  revoir,  my  friend. 

Didier.  It  is  true.  I  cannot  stay,  and 
yet  it  grieves  me  to  leave  you  alone. 


A  NEW  year's  farce  37 

Ah,  an  idea!  Be  happy.  {Rises  and 
goes  to  her,) 

Sophie.    What  do  you  mean? 

Didier.  You  will  dine  badly,  certain- 
ly ;  but  not  alone. 

Sophie.    What !    You  wish — 

Didier.  Do  you  object?  Does  our 
simplicity  frighten  you? 

Sophie.  Frighten  me?    Oh,  come. 

Didier.     But  not  in  that  costume. 

Sophie.  You  do  not  admire  it? 

Didier.  Too  much;  it  is  far  too  ele- 
gant. Borrow  a  gown  from  your  maid 
— a  simple  woollen  gown.  That  is  the 
usual  thing  with  us.  I  will  introduce 
you  as  Mademoiselle  Sophie,  whose 
needle  serves  me  for  20  sous  a  day,  and 
you  will  be  received  with  open  arms. 

Sophie.  You  are  right.  Marion! 
(Rings,  opens  door,  and  calls  again.) 

Didier.     She  does  not  come. 


38  I    DINE    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

Sophie.  Good  Heavens !  I  forgot.  I 
dismissed  her. 

Didier.  The  good  Marion.     Why? 

Sophie  (pointing  to  table).  Because  she 
would  not — 

Didier  (laughing).   Oh !   I  understand. 


SCENE  VIII. 

(Enter  Marion,  eyes  red  with  weeping, 
satchel  in  hand.) 

Marion.  Mademoiselle,  I  come  to 
take  leave. 

Didier.  Mademoiselle  takes  you 
back,  Marion. 

Marion  {dropping  satchel).  Oh!  is  it 
true.   Mademoiselle? 

Sophie.  Yes,  Marion.  Will  you  stay 
with  me? 

Marion.     Oh!   how  can  I  thank  you? 

Sophie.     By  loaning  me  a  dress. 

Marion.  I  loan  you  a  dress?  I,  to 
you? 

Sophie.     You,  to  me. 

Marion.     The  best  that — 

Sophie.     The  simplest. 

Marion  {opening  her  satchel).  Will  this 
do? 

Sophie.     Yes.     Won't  it,  Pierre? 


40*  I    DINK    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

Didier.  It  is  rather  dressy,  but  it  will 
do. 

Sophie.     Dress  me,  Marion.     Pierre! 

Didier.     Sophie ! 

Sophie.     Did  you  hear? 

Didier  {without  disturbing  himself). 
Certainly. 

Sophie.  Wait  for  me  a  few  moments, 
and  look  at  a  book. 

Didier.  Very  well.  {Takes  a  hook 
and  seats  himself  on  sofa.)    So ! 

Sophie.     And  turn  your  back. 

Didier.     So!     {Turns  around.) 

Sophie.     And  don't  look  in  the  mirror. 

Didier.    Oh !    an  artist  doesn't  count. 

Sophie.  They  are  the  most  observ- 
ing. 

Didier  {pensively,  zvhile  Marion  assists 
Sophie).  Isn't  friendship  a  beautiful 
thing,  Sophie? 

Sophie.     I  certainly  agree  with  you. 

Didier.  For  example,  here  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful   women   of  Paris — 


A    NEW    year's    farce  4^ 

for  you  are  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  of  Paris.  (Turns  half  toward 
her.) 

Sophie.     Now !    Now ! 

Didier  (assuming  former  position). 
Well,  then,  a  charming  young  woman 
makes  her  toilette  in  the  presence  of  a 
handsome  young  man ;  for  between  our- 
selves, I  am  a  handsome  young  man. 

Sophie.  Will  you  stop  looking  in  the 
mirror  ? 

Didier.  Right!  Well,  then,  here  are 
two  young  and  handsome  people;  one 
in  trouble,  and  the  other  full  of  sadness, 
because  love  is  not  in  the  game.  Oh 
friendship,  friendship,  thou  art  true, 
when  love  deserts  us! 

Sophie.     Now  I  am  ready. 

Didier.  May  I  look,  then? 

Sophie.  You  may.  Marion,  you  have 
the  evening  free.  Tell  all  the  servants 
I  take  them  back. 


42  I    DINE    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

Marion.  And,  Mademoiselle,  do  you 
double  our  wages? 

Sophie.     I  triple  them. 

Marion.  Oh,  how  lovely!  What 
luck.     (Retires.) 

Didier.     How  charming  you  look. 

Sophie.     Like  a  maid? 

Didier.     You  remind  me  of  our  attic. 

Sophie.  We  walk,  I  suppose.  A 
change  will  be  agreeable. 

Didier.    It  won't  be  a  change  for  me. 

Sophie.  If  my  carriage  were  seen 
they  would  know  at  once  it  was  Sophie 
Arnould. 

Didier.  That  reminds  me  that  I  have 
something  to  tell  you. 

Sophie.     Speak. 

Didier  {earnestly).  Dearest  Sophie, 
my  father  is  a  poor,  honest-hearted 
mason;  my  mother  a  simple,  good 
woman,  who  thinks  me  morally  and 
physically  a  masterpiece  of  creation.  If 
you   love    me,    do    not   disillusion    her. 


A  NEW  year's  farce  43 

They  will  probably  set  a  cabbage  soup 
before  you,  made  in  my  honor.  I  don't 
like  it,  but  always  take  a  double  portion 
to  please  them.  You  must  not  show 
any  fastidiousness  if  you  do  not  wish  to 
offend  my  parents.  You  will  notice 
many  peculiarities  in  their  speech,  but  I 
am  sure  you  will  show  your  usual  kind- 
ness and  charity.  Strangers  might  laugh 
at  them,  but  you  will  not,  for  it  would 
grieve  me.  I  warn  you,  you  will  not  eat 
from  rare  china,  and  you  will  find  a 
wretched  looking  dog  there ;  he  is  a  pet 
of  the  household.  Now  come.  {Takes 
her  arm.) 

Sophie  {stopping  at  the  door).     Pierre? 

Didier.  Have  you  forgotten  some- 
thing? 

Sophie.  No.  But  are  you  really  will- 
ing to  take  me  with  you? 

Didier  {astonished).    Why,  certainly! 

Sophie  {extending  hand).    I  thank  you, 


44  I    DINE    WITH    MY    MOTHER 

my  friend.  That  is  all  I  wish.  {Comes 
forward.) 

Didier.  What?  Has  my  description 
frightened  you? 

Sophie,  Do  not  think  that.  Were  I 
truly  the  Mademoiselle  Sophie  you 
wish  to  present,  I  should  not  hesitate 
a  moment;  but  I  am  Sophie  Arnould, 
and  my  place  is  as  little  in  your  moth- 
er's house  as  in  that  of  the  Countess 
d'Hennin — 

Didier.    Why,  what  does  this  mean? 

Sophie.  Hear  me,  my  friend.  Your 
parents  might  see  me  some  day  in  my 
carriage  and  learn  who  I  am,  and  it 
might  not  be  pleasing  to  them.  So 
good-by,  and  thank  you.  You  have 
shown  me  that  I  am  not  so  forlorn  as  I 
fancied,  and  that  has  done  my  heart 
good.    Good-by,  my  friend  and  brother. 

Didier.     You  abide  by  that  decision? 

Sophie.  I  really  must.  It  is  better 
so. 


A     NEW    YEAR  S    EARCE  45 

Didier,  You  act  like  a  noble,  whole- 
souled  woman.  I  only  thought  to  make 
you  happy.  You  think  of  my  duty. 
(Takes  both  her  hands.)  I  came  laughing 
and  found  you  weeping,  and  now  I  am  in 
tears.  Farewell,  my  good  Sophie.  Au 
revoir. 


SCENE  IX. 

Sophie.  The  brave  fellow.  And  the 
good  Count,  I  misjudged  him;  but  he 
will  come  back  and  forgive  me.  (Stands 
coquettishly  before  the  mirror.)  He  is  so 
good,  so  awfully  good.  (Takes  her 
mother^ s  miniature  in  her  hand,  and  con- 
templates it  thoughtfully.)  Ah,  they  are 
all  right,  to  place  home  and  family  above 
every  thing.  Oh,  my  mother!  (Kisses 
miniature  and  while  speaking  crosses  the 
room,  places  the  portrait  on  the  table,  and 
seats  herself.) 


SCENE  X. 

Sophie  alone  (enter  Marion  in  breathless 
haste.) 

Marion.  Mademoiselle,  dear  Made- 
moiselle. 

Sophie.     What  is  it,  Marion? 

Marion.  I  have  told  my  mother,  and 
she  says  I  may  stay  and  dine  with  you. 

Sophie.  I  thank  you,  my  child;  but 
I  will  not  spoil  your  family  party. 

Marion.  But  really.  Mademoiselle,  I 
do  not  wish  to  leave  you  alone. 

Sophie  (gaily).  I  am  not  alone, 
Marion.  See  (pointing  to  picture),  I  also 
dine  with  my  mother. 


M1G57GG 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


